


abundance

by Hinn_Raven



Series: deprivation [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Recovery, RvB Fluff Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 16:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11294196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: Grif ends up accidentally playing an important role in Wash's recovery.





	abundance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_taller_tale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/gifts).



> Am I capable of writing Fluff Week entries that aren’t connected to something I’ve already written? No clue.
> 
> Anyways, a-taller-tale requested Grif looking after Wash in the deprivation verse. and I mean, I’m always up for some H/C!
> 
>  **Warnings for** : Past captivity, brainwashing, abuse

Grif stares at Wash. Wash stares at Grif.

Now, the thing is, Grif has seen how Wash acts around the others. Especially when they’re in armor. The guy practically pissed himself when Caboose charged him in armor, he was shaking so hard. So a general edict has been issued, on pain of pissing off an incredibly protective and wanting to punch something Carolina. Don’t go near Wash when you’re in armor. Or she’ll kick your ass.

Grif, however, is in armor at this moment, because Grif did not expect to encounter a fucking _Freelancer_ , in his _room_. The guy’s been stuck to Tucker like fucking glue, following him around like a sad puppy or something. Half of the time he looks like he’s expecting a kick, but even then, he’s practically begging for Tucker’s attention. It’s… uncanny. It’s nothing like the Wash Grif remembers from Bravo, let alone the guy who shot Donut and kidnapped Simmons.

Grif had known that Felix was one fucked up guy, but seeing what he managed to do to Wash is…

Horrifying.

There’s really no other word for it.

But Wash isn’t looking at Grif like he’s scared. If anything he seems _relieved_ , looking at Grif like he’s…

Like he’s Tucker. It’s the same wide-eyed adoration Grif has seen Wash focus on Tucker since the return. The kind of adoration and _loyalty_ that Grey says comes with being Wash’s handler.

But that’s bullshit, because _Tucker_ is Wash’s “handler”, at least in Wash’s screwed up brain. Just like Locus had been.

Locus and…

Oh god.

Felix.

Felix wears orange armor too.

 _That asshole_.

Grif turns around to leave, because he needs to talk to Grey about this _now_ , because there is no way in the universe it can be this easy; there are other people on base wearing orange, Wash hasn’t imprinted on any of them, but Wash follows him, like he does with Tucker.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Grif demands before he can stop himself, and Wash _cringes_. He makes a noise, a small strangled one, and falls to his hands and knees, looking up at Grif with fear in his eyes, as if expecting Grif is going to tear him apart.

Grif sees the knife scars peaking out of the neck of the grey t-shirt Wash is wearing and swallows. He knows Felix likes knives. He can guess who caused those ones.

He can figure out what Wash is expecting to happen now.

“Shit,” he mutters, reaching down for Wash. Wash recoils, and Grif makes a face, remembering the armor problem. Wash doesn’t like being touched by people in armor, even though all un-armored physical contact is like catnip for him. Scowling, Grif stomps around Wash to get back to his room, trying to ignore how Wash scuttles after him, still on his hands and knees.

Once inside Grif strips off his armor as fast as he can, throwing it carelessly to one side in a way which will make Simmons screech at him later. But Grif doesn’t give a shit. Not that he would normally, but he cares even _less_ than normal, which is pretty impressive, if you were to ask him.  

The armor comes off and Wash seems to relax slightly, but he still doesn’t get up, on all fours like a dog or something, staring up at Grif with those huge grey eyes.

Grif remembers the first time he saw those, when Doc had removed his helmet to try to help him at Sidewinder. They’d been glassy with pain and almost screwed shut, but they’d stuck with Grif. It was something about the way they’d made Wash’s face look; like he knew that no matter how many times he got up, he was about to get kicked down again. That look had faded. Slowly, sure, but it had faded. It had almost been gone, the last time Grif had seen Wash’s face. They’d won him over.

Now it’s back, and it makes Grif sick to his stomach.

“I’m—fuck. I’m not mad,” he says, trying to talk to Wash like he’d talk to Kai when she was a kid, and had screwed up or scared him. “Look, I’m not mad, okay? I’m just—you startled me, that’s all. I’m not used to this.” Wash is staring at him warily, as if he’s not sure he believes him. “I’m not going to fucking hurt you, asshole. When you’re better you’d kick my ass for that.” He ignores the nasty part of his mind that questions if Wash ever _can_ get better.

Grif wonders if Wash even understands him, but Wash slowly pulls himself onto his knees, looking at Grif curiously now.

Grif sighs. “If you tell anyone about this, I’m dying your hair the color of Donut’s armor,” he informs Wash darkly, before he starts to pet his hair, like he’s seen Tucker do. Wash lets out a delighted little noise that would almost be cute if it wasn’t coming from a six-foot-something Freelancer who’s supposed to be one of the most dangerous people on the planet. Wash nuzzles Grif’s hand and Grif mutters to himself, letting this continue for a few minutes before stopping and climbing onto the couch he’d gotten his squad to move into the room he shares with Simmons ages ago. There’s room for it because they’d pushed the beds together after Grif had finally convinced Simmons that it’s okay for them to share a bed.

Wash moves forward, curling up on the floor by the couch, and fuck it, that’s too much.

“You can get up here,” Grif groans, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “If you want. Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with those assholes?”

Wash’s whole face lights up like it’s Christmas and he climbs up onto the couch and immediately leans against Grif’s shoulder.

Grif mutters to himself. “You realize, you’re going to owe me like. A thousand candy bars when we un-fuck your brain, right?”

Wash doesn’t say anything, because of course he doesn’t, because Locus and Felix probably electrocuted him whenever he tried to speak or something similarly fucked up. Because they’re _fucked up assholes_. Instead Wash just curls up against Grif and closes his eyes, humming contently.

“How can you be so happy?” Grif asks. “Like, fuck, you think I’m going to kick you the second you do something wrong. Why are you _happy_ I’m touching you? _Jesus,_ they fucked you up.”

Grif hesitates, then pets Wash’s hair again. It looks like Tucker finally got him to take a shower, because it’s clean again, and it’s been cut, neatly shaped into something similar to what he’d had back at Bravo. Not a buzzcut, because one of the videos they managed to scrounge up has made them pretty sure they’d buzzed his hair as a punishment at least once. But it’s better than the dirty, tangled mop he’d had when they’d first gotten him back.

Wash lets out another noise, and pulls his feet up onto the couch, closing his eyes.

That’s how Simmons finds them, hours later, asleep against each other, Grif’s hand having fallen to Wash’s shoulders, keeping Wash pressed up against him. Wash actually looks calm for once, like he’s not about to have a panic attack.

Which might have been okay if Simmons hadn’t _taken a fucking picture and given it to Carolina as blackmail material._

Sometimes, Grif’s boyfriend can be a real pain in the ass.


End file.
